


Force of Nature

by Lemur710



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemur710/pseuds/Lemur710
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A note from the past causes Magnus to contemplate the loves of his long life, and leads to an unexpected turning point in his relationship with Alec.</p><p>Or, Why Magnus Never Married</p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“Meaning well is not well enough,” Ragnor said to Magnus in some shabby French café several decades ago. “You remember what Simone said. ‘The danger is not that the soul doubts there’s any bread, but lest, by a lie, it persuades itself that it is not hungry.’ My dear friend, there is no bread. Do not pretend any of these well-meaning ‘acts of love’ feed that starving soul of yours.”<p>“That’s not exactly how she said it. I do believe you’re paraphrasing.”</p><p>“And you’re avoiding the issue, which I’ll allow because I’ve eaten too much and need to concentrate on digestion. But I hope you're listening too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Set an indeterminate number of months after the events of season one. Does not follow book canon (I’ve not read them) and will be completely obliterated by TV canon come season two. But for now, let’s play!

“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.”  
—Zora Neale Hurston

_________________________

Once, Magnus slept all night in a hammock on a Venezuelan beach that had a name only the locals knew. As the morning came, he awoke slowly, peacefully, listened to the waves, smelled the salt spray of the ocean, and felt the warmth of the rising sun on his skin. Then, suddenly, one of the lines snapped. He hit the ground so hard, it knocked the breath out of him and the shock jolted his nervous system, slicking cold, reactionary panic through him, painful and quick.

It had been centuries, but that kind of sense memory never fades. He no longer consciously recalled that beach, certainly didn’t remember its locals-only name, and sometimes he forgot he’d even been in Venezuela that decade. But the mere sway of a hammock and his body remembered. He would tense and brace himself for impact before his mind even realized what he was doing.

He always kept one hand on the ground, ready to catch himself if he fell.

_________________________

Magnus’s day started on a bad note. Specifically, a note from a Seelie in New Zealand requesting his input on a malfunctioning ward. A note that would have been perfectly charming had she not mentioned the last time Magnus helped her, which dredged up long-forgotten memories of hangi by firelight and the grief-stricken fury of Maori villagers after Camille had turned her hungers loose.

“Yes, well,” he said aloud to no one, and he straightened his shoulders as he stood in the open expanse of his loft, morning sunlight filtering in the windows.

He responded swiftly with his best advice for the flummoxed Seelie and tried to put it out of mind. He drank his morning coffee and sorted through the truly terrible materials his new client had sent him to translate. He considered calling Alec, his favorite distraction, but with his hand on his phone, he paused.

With one ink-and-parchment sentence, the specter of Camille had been summoned to his thoughts, and she’d never been easy to banish. But it was Ragnor’s words he heard.

 _Who has caught your eye this time?_ Ragnor teased. _Someone beautiful and soulful, no doubt. Have you gotten a sonnet out of them yet?_

He thought he’d been cured, that whatever old instinct he had to throw himself headlong into love had been dulled by wisdom, time, and pain. His untempered passions had led to every great catastrophe in his life, and he knew he needed to be smarter, more sensible, more careful with his entanglements. For a century, he’d seen all manner of beautiful people of every variety and his heart had been untouched, even when his body most certainly wasn’t.

But he’d forgotten how certain eyes felt different. How some people could pass through defenses, stay in the mind’s eye, and somehow linger for hours, even days, without saying a word. It hadn’t happened in such a very long time. And when it did, Magnus discovered he hadn’t changed at all.

With a sigh, he set down his phone, and almost immediately it chimed with a message: Alec requesting his presence at the Institute, in an official work-related capacity, of course. Magnus smiled and happily abandoned his translations.

He spent the afternoon wandering through the Institute, reinforcing the wards and searching for tampering or weaknesses undetectable by other, non-magical means. He noted how little note his presence received at the Institute these days. No soldier was assigned to supervise him and he got barely a glance from each passing Shadowhunter as he moved from room to room. Just the other week, a contingent of Downworlders had been invited to use the Institute as safe neutral territory for a tense negotiation. A sign of changing times that Magnus wouldn’t have believed possible—still wouldn’t, if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

When he was finished, he wound through the corridors, strolling along the back way to the briefing room where he was most likely to find Alec, or one of the others he now considered friends. 

Jace, Clary, and Isabelle sat with their backs to the rear door, eyes on the screen where Alec stood going over what Magnus assumed were mission parameters. Something about Shax demons in some place or another, he didn’t listen very closely. For once, it was neither politically fraught nor potentially apocalyptic, so instead Magnus chose to indulge in the simple pleasure of admiring Alec in command: his lean body all incased in black, standing tall, that stern voice giving clear, concise directives. 

Alec turned mid-sentence, eyes catching on the newcomer leaning in the doorway.

“Oh, Magnus is here,” Jace said, then craned around to look at Magnus. He raised a fist. “Yes, called it.” Turning back, he gave Alec a shrug. “You have a face, man.” Clary stifled a laugh.

Alec cast him an unamused look, but said nothing. Isabelle beamed fondly at her brother and waved Magnus over. “Sit by me,” she said, then slid over to make room for him on the sturdy bench seat.

“I like those shoes,” he said as he sat down.

“Thank you! I love you in blue. You look gorgeous.”

“Can we focus, please?” Alec asked irritably.

Isabelle grinned at him. “I can if you can.”

Magnus felt a thrill as Alec’s gaze flickered to him, a moment of uncertainty perhaps, then he rolled his eyes and continued the briefing. As soon as Alec’s back was turned, Isabelle gave Magnus a wink, bumping her shoulder against his affectionately, and Jace’s teasing smile hadn’t faded quite yet. 

Magnus was still careful about flirting with Alec within the walls of the Institute—those outside his private quarters, at least. He wanted to let Alec strike his own balance between his role as a leader and who he was alone with Magnus. But Alec could be so stubbornly _serious about everything_ sometimes. It was reassuring to see his siblings supporting him in the antagonistic way only family could. Magnus almost welcomed the pang of regret that came with that thought. He let his happiness for Alec soothe that ever-present wound for now.

“Should my report on the wards come to you?” Magnus asked, standing from the bench when the meeting was over.

“Yes. After the changes we made to accommodate our visitors last week, I wanted to be sure we had everything back as it should be,” Alec said, his eyes narrowed threateningly at something behind Magnus. 

Magnus could only imagine what parting gestures Jace and Isabelle gave their brother as they filed out of the room. “Very wise,” he assured him. “Allow me to give you the official ‘All Clear.’ A few odd disruptions in the library; nothing dangerous; but it might be worth your time to send a reminder that people should _not_ read aloud from books if they do not understand the language. Especially if it appears to be a faerie language.”

Alec nodded and lifted his tablet to make the note. Magnus allowed himself to appreciate his long fingers and toned forearms. Being near Alec still set his blood humming, a vibration through his skin. The air in the room felt different when Alec was near. “You look quite handsome today, Alec,” he said. 

Alec nearly rolled his eyes, but Magnus had learned to read the curve of his mouth and recognize when he was secretly pleased. “I look like this every day.”

Magnus swayed on his feet, smiled cheekily. “You said it, not me.”

Alec tossed down the tablet and folded his arms across his chest. He let out an exasperated sigh, but his smile was soft when he looked at Magnus. “Do you have more appointments this afternoon?”

“A few complicated translations—believe it or not, a client sent me microfiche, of all things—but nothing pressing. Why do you ask?”

Alec shrugged his broad shoulders. “Would you want to do something? Now?”

“I would like that very much. What would you like to do?” 

A few people passed in the corridor, and Alec glanced over at them, then back at Magnus—at Magnus’s mouth at least. It took a second for his gaze to lift and meet his eyes. “Can we go to your place?”

Magnus pursed his lips in a smirk, watched as Alec’s attention flickered downward again. “Nothing would please me more.”

Within the hour, his day had improved considerably. Alec spread out on his couch beneath him, hot with his hair mussed by Magnus’s hands, one bare foot on the floor and the other sliding against Magnus’s calf.

Magnus pulled his mouth away from Alec’s with a soft swipe of his tongue. Nuzzled his nose as they panted against one another. “May I?” he asked, tapping his blue-polished finger against the first button on Alec’s dark shirt.

Alec glanced down, nodded distractedly. “Yeah.”

Oh, how Magnus loved that lust-dazed look on his exquisite features. He grinned, popped the button and made a show of pushing aside the fabric until he reached the second one, then the third. Kept his lips just out of Alec’s reach, no matter how he craned up for them, Magnus’s dangling necklaces stroking each new bit of bare skin. Alec laughed softly, an answering grin flickering across his mouth as he watched the path of the fingers opening his shirt inch by inch.

“I like your nails,” he murmured, like it was a confession.

“Thank you. I like your everything.” Magnus made no efforts to hide the desire on his face and let his eyes roam freely over Alec’s freshly exposed chest, earning another laugh. They were becoming far less rare these days, and Magnus enjoyed that just as much as the increasingly frequent evenings like this.

Alec’s hands stroked under the cuffs of Magnus’s long sleeves, fingertips against the skin of his forearms. “I like your everything, too,” he said, pulling Magnus back down for a kiss.

Magnus welcomed his touch and tried to ignore the flicker of cold fear and heated hurt. _You don’t know my everything._

Their bodies shifted just slightly, deliciously, and Alec let out a whimpering noise he definitely hadn’t intended to make. Magnus felt the way his head tilted down almost imperceptibly, embarrassed.

“No shame, my dear,” Magnus whispered, pressing his lips to a warm, flushed cheek. “I am not…unaffected myself.” To make the point, he rolled his hips down against Alec’s thigh. 

Alec let out another whimper, teeth biting his bottom lip, eyes dark and searing, and behind them was such _hunger_. He gripped at Magnus’s waist and spread his thighs for Magnus to settle fully between them, chest to chest, hip to hip, startling Magnus in the best way. Alec’s satisfied, heady moan rumbled between them and it felt like it had been trapped inside him for years. Magnus could only imagine how long Alec had wanted this, how desperately he had ached to feel a body like his pressed hot and hard against him.

Magnus smiled into their kiss, reveling in the abandoned way Alec arched his back, how his hands roamed over the tensed muscles of Magnus’s arms. Then, those hands slid lower and gripped his backside. This time, it was Magnus who let out the unexpected whimper. Alec quickly withdrew his hands.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he breathed against his mouth.

“No, it’s quite all right,” Magnus breathed back. “You just surprised me.”

“I should’ve asked. You—you’re always so nice—you always ask me.”

“Okay.” Magnus made enough distance, both lips and hips, to smirk down at him, his necklaces hanging between them like a lodestone. “Then ask me.”

Alec’s hands returned to his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt, warm and heavy on Magnus’s sides. He looked wonderfully ruined. “Can I—would it be okay if I—do you want—”

Magnus chuckled fondly over the inelegant scramble of words, how earnestly Alec said them. “Yes, Alexander, I would be positively delighted if you grabbed my ass.”

Alec laughed a little, throaty and dazed. Then, he slid his hands back where they both wanted them. His expression turned desirous, confident, and he rolled his hips up as he squeezed Magnus’s down and took his mouth with another heated kiss. Magnus’s stomach swooped and lust wiped his thoughts clean, just after the last flitting observation that _Dear god, Alexander is a natural._

A few more minutes of perfect, blissful rutting, and suddenly, Magnus felt those hands pushing up, away, the opposite direction he wanted to go when he had his mouth hot against the flushed skin of Alec’s stomach.

“I need,” Alec panted, “I need to stop.”

“Okay,” Magnus said. He sat back on his knees, immediately creating space between them. He put one foot on the floor to stand, but Alec grabbed his wrist and held him still, which was just as well because Magnus wasn’t sure his legs would hold him anyway.

“Can you stay? I just—I need to stop,” he said, “but I want to—can you stay? With me? Here? Would that be okay?”

Magnus nodded dumbly, not quite finding the words, and let Alec pull him down to lay on his back on the seat of the couch. 

Alec exhaled, mouth a round ‘O’ like he was catching his breath after a sprint. He settled against the couch’s back, his front pressed along Magnus’s side, except for his hips, which he curved away just enough to keep from touching. But his free hand still roamed hungrily across Magnus, sought out skin and muscle, unsatisfied. Magnus could feel the lust and want pouring off his body in waves, even if the rest of him felt unready.

“Tell me about your rings,” Alec whispered against the sensitive skin of Magnus’s neck.

Magnus let out a long, calming breath of his own as Alec’s palm slid over his stomach, the round of his shoulder, down his sides where he would be ticklish if he weren’t so unbearably turned on. Sweat pricked along his forehead. How desperately he wanted to feed into that hunger, rake his nails down Alec’s still-bare torso, and take him in hand until passion and the racing, frantic need for climax made him change his mind. 

But he’d learned very early on that, when Alec felt ready to touch and be touched, his enthusiasm was mind-blowing, toe-curling and worth every strained, unsated second of waiting.

“My what? My rings?” he asked, sounding winded to his own ears. He may have briefly forgotten the English language. “Oh, um…”

“Everything you wear is so deliberate.” Alec’s words were hot against Magnus’s temple. “Do they each have a story?”

Alec’s traveling hand finally came to rest on Magnus’s, folded atop his clothed stomach from where his inside arm was pleasantly pinned between Alec’s body and his own. The gilded fabric felt rough under his fingertips compared to the firm, sweat-slicked expanse of Alec’s abdomen. Magnus let out another long breath and closed his eyes. He tried very hard not to think about Alec’s abdomen. “They do. Probably,” he stumbled through the words, wiped at the dampness at the edge of his hair with his other hand.

“Probably?”

Magnus sighed, deep and dramatic. “Do forgive my ineloquence—thanks to a certain Shadowhunter I’m having some difficulty remembering my own name at the moment.”

Alec snickered and cuddled close, chin on Magnus’s shoulder and his face against his neck. His bare feet dangled off the end of the couch, long legs stretched out. For all of his height and impressive muscle, he felt light where he clung to Magnus, sweetly smug and so happy, _free_. Something fluttered in Magnus’s heart, some lightness rising to meet Alec’s. He couldn’t stop a smile from curling his lips, laughing just to hear Alec laughing too.

Could he have imagined a moment like this, he wondered, back when he first saw this beautiful, scowling soldier in battle? The answer came quickly, easily: _Yes._

Yes. That was why he’d found it impossible to give up.

“Dear boy. He means well,” Magnus said to Ragnor, as they sat slumped in a back booth at some shabby hole-in-the-wall café in Paris several decades ago. They’d exhausted themselves laughing over the truly wretched poem an enamored young man had given Magnus the night before, passing the worn sheet of paper back and forth between them as they stuffed themselves with cassoulet and flamiche.

“Meaning well is not well enough,” Ragnor said, chuckling dryly. “You remember what Simone said. ‘The danger is not that the soul doubts there’s any bread, but lest, by a lie, it persuades itself that it is not hungry.’ My dear friend, there is no bread. Do not pretend any of these well-meaning ‘acts of love’ feed that starving soul of yours.”

“That’s not exactly how she said it. I do believe you’re paraphrasing.”

“And you’re avoiding the issue, which I’ll allow because I’ve eaten too much and need to concentrate on digestion.” Ragnor let out a burp and stifled it with one hand while his other fell to Magnus’s shoulder. “But I hope you’re listening, too.” His palm gripped Magnus, strong and sure.

Magnus rolled his eyes, but he did listen, and realized that Ragnor’s hand on his shoulder had made him feel more loved than any number of passionate sonnets penned in his honor of late. 

Prone on the couch, Magnus threaded his fingers through Alec’s on his stomach. Their mirth had taken edge off and when their next breaths came, they were steadier, less lust-rattled and sex-charged. Magnus felt the sweat beginning to dry on his skin, its temperature lowering to tolerable levels.

“So, my rings,” he stated flatly, and Alec let out an amused snort. He lifted his head just enough to press a kiss Magnus’s neck, under his jaw, sparking a lovely shiver. “Now, don’t start all that again. Do you want to hear these stories or not?”

“All right, okay.” Alec’s smile warmed his words, and he shifted to get comfortable, head more fully on Magnus’s shoulder.

And Magnus told him stories, indeed. Some were even true, but they were just as unbelievable as the ones that weren’t. Alec asked what happened next, called bullshit when he heard it (he was only half right), and chuckled at all the right spots. His hand never left Magnus’s, fingers playing across each ring as Magnus wove its tale.

Then, his thumb stroked over the bare skin on Magnus’s ring finger. “You said you’ve never been married,” he said softly into the peaceful quiet. “I can’t believe it’s because no one wanted to.” His voice dipped low at the end, his swallow audible, as if maybe he didn’t realize what a statement it was until he’d said it. 

“Well, obviously, Alexander,” Magnus scoffed, aghast, and he felt Alec huff another laugh and tighten his embrace. Magnus’s heart flipped; oh, dear, that felt so much like _fondness._

“Then why didn’t you?”

Magnus hummed thoughtfully and tried to remember. They weren’t good memories all of them, and some were barely memories at all. “The legalities of the time and place were a hindrance on occasion, if my recollection is correct.” 

“How many times?” Alec asked.

Magnus searched his tone for any apprehension or fear, but heard only idle curiosity. Or at least, an effort at sounding idly curious, which was a kindness in itself.

“Not often, in truth,” he replied. “The word ‘marriage’ was brought up, oh, perhaps only a dozen times by different suitors. Some within hours of meeting me, so you can imagine how seriously those were meant to be taken.”

“But others were serious.”

Magnus nodded, felt Alec’s unruly hair against his ear. “Others were serious.” He watched Alec’s thumb caressing his finger, and let the confirmation hang there. Alec could ask him more right now, or later, or never at all. Magnus wished he knew which choice he’d prefer.

“Did you want to marry any of them?” Then, sensing Magnus’s hesitation, he added, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s all right.” Magnus shifted his shoulders a touch, enjoying the softness in Alec’s voice as he heard Camille’s sharp one in his thoughts: _Tell them what they want to hear, so you can get what you want._ But the bleeding, hopeful fool Magnus was at his core spoke louder: _Love can’t grow in lies._

“Once,” he said, “there was a lovely gal from Yugoslavia studying neurosurgery in San Francisco. This was in the ‘60s, mind you. Or maybe it was the ‘70s. Regardless, her student visa had expired and she had some sort of brain research she was desperate to finish—honestly, I barely understood what she was saying most of the time, but she was brilliant, truly. She needed a green card, and I wanted to help her. Terrible idea, obviously, but it was the ‘60s. Or the ‘70s. In the end, I couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t...it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Did you love her?”

“Not in the way you’re asking, no,” Magnus said. “But there are many different ways to love people.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Alec said quietly, almost to himself. “Is that the only one you considered?”

Magnus shrugged, though the movement was weighted down by Alec’s closeness. His voice felt distant, detached, as it crossed his lips. “There were others.”

“Tell me about them?”

“Oh, Alec. All this talk about marriage and past relationships. We’re taking things slowly, remember?” He bumped his chin against Alec’s head playfully, once, twice. “We don’t need to do all this now.”

“Is this you saying you need to stop?”

Magnus blinked, a strange anxiety jumping in his veins. “I suppose it is.”

“Okay,” Alec said. He lifted his head to press another of those tingling kisses to Magnus’s jaw, then settled back on his shoulder.

Magnus waited. Waited for the next question, waited for Alec to want to know one more thing, waited for him to ask why he wouldn’t answer, waited for his curiosity to outweigh Magnus’s comfort. But Alec just held his hand and seemed content in the silence.

Magnus remembered once, decades ago, walking into battle with a mundane warrior—some territorial skirmish he had no business being part of, really, but injustice always did rankle him so. The warrior had nodded at him, and said, “We’re with you,” like it was a comfort. So, he had smiled and pretended to be comforted, but she had nothing to offer. If the enemy was one he couldn’t defeat alone, she and her army would be useless. If he fell, no one would be able to save him.

For however well-intentioned his would-be fiancés had always been, they simply could not fathom his life, his strength, his pain. They simply could not fathom _him._ They’d kiss him, love him, and a traitorous, honest part of himself would whisper, _They can never truly hold you._ They fell in love with a gentle rain, never understanding that Magnus was a force of nature.

That was the lure, he supposed, in retrospect, of Camille. Another immortal, another Downworlder; someone with her own immense power, so perhaps she could balance him. Truly be his equal and fight his enemies when he could not. Be someone who could hold him up and keep him safe, as he would her. So he’d ignored all the warning signs, disregarded Ragnor’s careful cautions, and let himself relax fully into her embrace. He’d let go of the ground, and the line had snapped.

The impact rattled through his bones for a lifetime. Some days, it still did. 

In this moment, it still did.

Tears pricked behind Magnus’s eyes and he swallowed against the sudden hollow, aching feeling in his chest. “I believe—” He cleared his throat as emotion strangled his words, and he didn’t know why he was talking, why he was breaking this tranquil quiet with someone he wanted to love. “I do believe marriage is a partnership—I shouldn’t have mocked you for that, I’m sorry—” He could hear Camille’s derisive cackle, and even Ragnor’s affectionate ridicule, _Oh, my dear friend, you just can’t help yourself, can you?_

Magnus continued, headlong, “One built on passion, love, trust. I heard it said once that marriage should be a soft place to fall. That you can be more, strive higher, because you know there’s someone to catch you if you fail, someone who will remind you of everything you are. Who can lend you strength when you’ve lost yours.”

His face heated as soon as the sentiment left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to echo the words he’d said to Alec so many months ago as they grasped hands over Luke Garroway’s wounded form. He hadn’t meant to imply, however indirectly, that he expected any of this from Alec, with Alec. It was too soon, and Alec was so young, so new to what he was feeling. And Magnus was too much. Always too much. A monsoon when a lover only wanted a drink.

He felt relieved when Alec didn’t move or tense against him, when there was not even a hesitation in the gentle stroking of his hand.

“An equal,” Alec said, after a short silence in which Magnus’s heart pounded so loudly he thought half the city must hear it, let alone the man pressed so intimately to his side.

Magnus nodded.

“That has to be hard to find, when you’re...you.”

Magnus nodded again, then managed to give a thready, “Yes.”

Alec lifted up onto his elbow and gazed down at him with such softness in those young eyes, softness and some emotion Magnus couldn’t name. His other hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb against Magnus’s bottom lip. “How often do you give to people without asking for anything back?”

“Oh, I make extravagant demands for my services, you know that,” Magnus replied airily, ignoring the strain in his voice. “Rubies, emeralds, ancient treasures from lands that have become legend...”

But Alec didn’t laugh or roll his eyes the way that Magnus wanted him to. Or didn’t want him to. A knot formed in his throat, and Magnus’s thoughts were an exchanging litany of _Just laugh and forget all this_ , and _Please want everything I am._

“Not what I meant,” Alec said. His eyes left Magnus’s then, roaming over his face, hand lifting to brush his blue-tinted hair from his forehead. 

Magnus patted Alec’s shoulder firmly and sat up, breaking from their cozy nest. “A drink?” he asked lightly, and stood from the couch to walk to the bar. “I have a new liquor for you to try. It’s sweeter. Made from a berry found the jungles of—”

“Magnus,” Alec said, voice heavy, older than his years.

Magnus turned and looked at him. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast, why he felt so much like a cornered animal right now. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, braced for impact. Alec sat up, long legs bent, his shirt rumpled and still gaping over his magnificent chest. His hair looked a mess, sticking up in all directions. His mouth was kiss-bitten and red. He looked enticingly interactive, used and enjoyed, and Magnus swallowed against the weary sadness in his throat. He just wanted this for a little longer; he didn’t want to stray into this messy minefield now, so soon.

“I know how powerful you are,” Alec said, then shook his head. “No, actually, I probably don’t have a clue how powerful you are. The Institute’s files probably don’t come close to—to any of it.”

 _Oh, you’ve been reading up on me, darling. I’m flattered._ The pithy response perched on Magnus’s tongue, but he couldn’t make it move, couldn’t find the flirtatious detachment he usually slung so easily. His hand trembled as he poured the liquor, decanter rattling against the glass. The sound jittered across his nerves.

“I just—” Alec started again. “I know I probably don’t know anything about how strong you are. And I don’t mean the magic. I mean—I _mean_ the magic, but not just the magic. Your magic. Not _just_ your magic. You’re strong in every way I can think of, and you’re about the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life, so I know—I know other people—that’s a different kind of power—and other people must have— _worshipped_ you—But—”

Magnus closed his eyes for a breath, hearing Alec stand and come closer. How imperfectly perfect Alec always expressed himself. How little artifice he put into his words, and how much more easily they found their way through Magnus’s defenses because of it. Nothing about Alec was smooth but the way he fought, the way he kissed, and the way he cared.

Magnus tensed to feel Alec stop behind him, his considerable height looming, warm and protective. “Magnus.” He placed a gentle palm on Magnus’s shoulder. “It’s probably stupid, but can I—” he began, softly, then laughed a little, like it was funny and it wasn’t all at once. “Can I hug you?” His thumb stroked against the back of Magnus’s neck, at the clipped edge of his hair.

Magnus inhaled and set down the decanter. He turned, finding enough of his usual confidence to meet Alec’s gaze, though he knew the look wasn’t cocky or coy. It was battle-tested and intense. “Yes,” he whispered, then he blinked slowly and let his glamor fall to meet Alec’s eyes with his own, every inch the inhuman, intimidating High Warlock of Brooklyn.

A breathless, lopsided smile broke across Alec’s face like a sunrise, and he let out a short, happy laugh that broke something open in Magnus’s heart. He pressed a kiss to Magnus’s forehead, and then closed his arms around his shoulders.

Struck, Magnus slowly raised one arm to wrap around Alec’s back under his open shirt, feeling the muscle, skin, and strength, his warmth; felt how all-encompassing Alec’s embrace could be. One hand still clung to the bar, as if it would keep him grounded.

Alec kissed the top of his head, his temple just along his hair line. Magnus squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, he closed both arms around Alec’s body and buried his face in his neck, breathing him in, letting his lungs fill with the scent of him. He suddenly remembered swaying in a hammock on a beach in Venezuela, the salt spray of the ocean and the warmth of the sun on his skin. An abrupt, rattling impact, and a hand forever on the ground, ready to catch himself if he fell again.

 _Oh, you silly man,_ he heard Ragnor’s words in his memory. _Only you could make the immensity of your power into a weakness. You imagine no one could truly love you, simply because no one yet has figured out how._

Clinging to Alec, he hoped, he _hoped_ , and he let go.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Alec spoke the words gently, against Magnus’s hair, after they’d held one another for a time that seemed at once endless and too short.

“Why?” Magnus asked, and didn’t have time to soften the artlessness of the question before Alec was pulling away to look at him again. His hands slid down Magnus’s arms to hold both of his hands.

“I like being with you,” he said. 

It wasn’t a sonnet, but it slid home inside Magnus in a way that reminded him of Ragnor’s hand on his shoulder in some shabby French café, of Isabelle nudging against him with a wink. It felt so good it almost hurt, and it made him realize he’d been _starving_.

Alec held his gaze and he seemed somehow calmer, unflinching, as he stood face-to-face with Magnus’s otherness, his permanence and power. As calm and steady as he’d been when he walked away from the altar at his own wedding to kiss Magnus before his family, the Clave, and everything he’d ever thought he believed in. Always his steadiest, his most decisive, when the situation most called for uncertainty and fear.

It was possible that Alec really never would cease to amaze him.

“I like being with you, too,” Magnus said at last. “And I’d like it very much if you stayed.”

Alec smiled and kissed him, so much like that kiss in the aisle with the world watching. 

It had been months since that ill-fated ceremony. Magnus had seen the impact of it at the Institute for himself and he’d heard the buzz, the disbelief and awe, among the Downworlders. Things were changing because they were being _forced_ to, and as he wrapped his arms around Alec’s shoulders to kiss him heatedly back, it occurred to him that mortals who lived their lives without compromise became legends.

And Magnus Bane, well, he was a legend already.

_________________________

The next day started on a better note. Specifically, a note on his phone from Alec informing him that he wouldn’t be attending morning practice, which was charming because Magnus knew Alec was still in his bed.

“Sorry. Meant that for Izzy,” Alec mumbled behind him.

Magnus set his phone down, rubbed at his eyes, and rolled onto his back to see Alec sitting up in the blankets, face illuminated by his cellphone. It couldn’t be later than 5 a.m., by Magnus’s estimation. It was still dark outside. Alec looked like a dream in his boxer briefs and borrowed t-shirt, hair a mess as he squinted at the too-bright screen.

“Okay,” Alec said, after tapping a few buttons. He clicked off his phone, throwing the room back into darkness.

Magnus felt more than saw the blankets lift as he settled under them again, the mattress dipping as he slid closer. “I hope she won’t mind.”

“She’ll be thrilled. And very nosy.” Alec closed his arm around Magnus’s waist and tucked his head against his pillow. He let out a short yawn. “So I was thinking,” he said, bed-soft and drowsy.

“Hm?” Still half asleep, Magnus slid his arm along Alec’s.

“You said you got the snake ring from the Sultana of Brunei in 1916, but you also said you were in France for all of the 1910s,” Alec said, and Magnus didn’t need light to know there was a smirk on his face; he could hear it. “So which is it?” 

Magnus groaned and curled away onto his side. “What have I done to myself? Falling in love with a fact checker.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but Alec just chuckled and closed the distance Magnus had made between them.

He slid his arm around his waist again. “Guess we’ll keep each other honest,” Alec whispered. 

Magnus leaned back until he felt the warmth of Alec’s chest, felt his kiss against the shell of his ear. They shifted against one another, finding comfort close, holding each other. “I guess we will,” he agreed. 

Moments later, Magnus fell back to sleep, still smiling.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The quote Ragnor paraphrased is from French philosopher and mystic Simone Weil. “The danger is not lest the soul should doubt whether there is any bread, but lest, by a lie, it should persuade itself that it is not hungry.” I like to think Magnus and Ragnor would have grooved in her social circle.


End file.
